|8-29, Anna Maria Island|
And yet, during this process, I knew I wanted Abigail buried at home at Little Union. I knew I couldn't bear the thought of her being buried in PA, only for us to possibly be moved across the country, never to return. Perhaps it was the memories of decoration day as a child, or knowing the care that my grandmother takes in keeping up the graves of our family, but I couldn't bear the thought of it being alone and unkept, a place where flowers are never left. The entire time part of me kept telling the rest of me how irrational I was being, how it really didn't matter. And besides this was not her, she was gone. That part still tells me, that I shouldn't grieve as those who have no hope, because I know better (I Thes. 4:13).
|8-29, Me and Gary. The only picture|
we've had of just the two of us in a while.
I expected it to be hard to leave today, knowing that she was buried here, and yet as I stood there, looking one last time, at the now dead flowers, I found that it wasn't that hard at all. The flowers that after a week in the hot Florida sun and pouring afternoon rain, were faded droopy and obviously no longer in the land of the living, just reminded me that my baby isn't really there in the dirt, only the shell I held. That the woman I imagine that she might have been is with our Lord. It was good to be there, to see the Church yard, a place where we have so many good memories, where we have been encouraged and uplifted in song so many times, where we have heard so many scriptural messages that teach us about our hope. It was good to be reminded of that, and to listen to Gary say prayer, and even though it still hurts it was ok to leave today.
|8-29, A few very tiny shells we found.|